Tattered
by punkchick99
Summary: What if James Potter wasn't just the perfect, popular guy that everyone thought he was? What if there was more to James Potter, behind the scenes? What if his life was a lot different than people thought?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so this was on here before as A Miserable Soul. But I've changed a few things and I am slowly putting it back. Anyway please please please please please times a zillion review and give me feedback :)**

**Big love!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize. Nooo shit.**

Slap. A stinging pain shocked the young wizard, his left cheek burning with the pain from the blow that his father had just dealt him.

He looked down at the freshly polished wooden floor, determined not to cry, determined to keep a stony, expressionless face.

He examined a piece of mud on the side of his shoe intently, wondering, fearing, apprehensive of what was coming next.

"Are you listening to me, boy? Look at me when I'm talking to you, you ungrateful no good child!" screamed the boy's father, grabbing his son's chin forcefully, and pulling it up to face him, making the boy's neck crack from such a fast movement.

The young boy looked up at his father's rage filled face, cheeks red, chest heaving in anger, green eyes glazed over with anger, unlike with their usual twinkle.

The boy winced inwardly, bracing himself for the next blow, and then- Slap. Another stinging blow was dealt, this time to the boy's right cheek.

James Potter looked up at his father, face expressionless. He was barely looking at his father, more looking behind him, not daring to look at the anger in his father's eyes again.

Mr. Potter glared at his son once again, and held up a piece of parchment, waving it in front of James' face.

"You see this, boy?" he yelled, small droplets flying from his mouth and onto James's cheek.

James didn't reply, just continued to look past his father and the parchment, in a silent protest.

"You see this?" he yelled again, getting even closer to his son, a little too close for comfort if you asked James.

"Yes," said James quietly, not wanting to be slapped again, and wishing he were anywhere else than in the kitchen of his own home, facing his very own father.

His father held up the parchment, and read a segment aloud.

"_Mr. Potter has a lot of potential, and could go very far with his schoolwork as a 7th year, and could be a wonderful auror someday. If only he would apply himself to his work, instead of focusing more on social commitments, and creating minor chaos with childish pranks throughout the castle. We are rather disappointed in Mr. Potter, although we are quite pleased with the work he has applied himself to."_

Mr. Potter stopped reading, and looked at his son, the anger subsiding a little as he saw James's solemn expression.

'Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

James returned to staring at the ground, blinking ferociously to keep the tears that were threatening to fall from cascading down his more-than-rosy cheeks, which were still red from the slaps earlier.

This was all Mr. Potter could handle.

"I said, what do you have to say for yourself!" he screamed, his voice cracking a little as I started to go hoarse, his face going red, and his hands clenching into fists at his sides, one of them crumpling the parchment into a small ball in anger.

James kept looking at the floor, trying with every ounce of pride he had not to cry. Every ounce he had… But to no avail.

A tear slipped out, and fell to the floor poignantly and silently, James not being able to do a thing about it.

Mr. Potter saw the teardrop fall, silently and poignantly, until it the floor, splashing without making a sound.

His face softened immediately, and he looked at his son's face properly for the first time. The mixture of fear, anger, defiance and sadness was a rare show of emotion from his son, and Mr. Potter began to feel a little remorseful.

"I'm sorry son, but this is for your own good! The Potter family are winners. We have always been winners. You cannot afford to lapse on your schoolwork!" there was a pause in Mr. Potters speech, as he took a breath, and worded in his head what he was going to say next.

"I admit, I caused a bit of mischief at your age too, everyone does, but you can NOT let it interfere with your schoolwork!" said Mr Potter, starting to get worked up again, but not letting the anger take over so much that he hit his son again.

"Yes father," said James miserably. He knew exactly what was coming next. The generation speech.

Sure enough, all sense of remorse had disappeared from his fathers deep voice.

"The Potter family have been winners, and proud of it, for generations. I went to Hogwarts, and was top of the Quidditch team, top of my year, top of all of my classes, and I still managed to fit in a social schedule. Your grandfather went to Hogwarts, and he…"

This was about as far as James got before he started to faze out of the meaningless word that were spouting from his fathers mouth. He had heard, and taken on the exact same speech countless times, he had been in the exact same position countless times, and did not want to bother with it all again.

He understood. His family, relatives, ancestors were all genius's, legends on the Quidditch field, and all of them managed to have social lives, as well as be top of their classes and Quidditch teams.

He wished he was back at Hogwarts again, in his dormitory, with his best friends, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

It was only the first week of the holidays, and already he missed them terribly. Missed the fun they had together, the mischief they caused, the plans they made. How they could make him happy no matter what, and that even if they were fighting, he still felt safe, comfortable, and happy with him.

When James was with the Marauders, he was in a good state of mind, a state of mind he was safe in. But at home, James was a different person, a dangerous person. Not dangerous to anyone but himself, but still dangerous nevertheless. The only people that could save him from himself existed only at Hogwarts, and when he was at home they couldn't be with him. Couldn't save him from himself.

He tuned back in again quickly, just in time to hear the end of his father's tiresome speech.

" If only you could be more like me James…"

James snapped his head up, locking eyes with his father. Mr. Potter noticed that there was a new expression in James's eye… not guilt… no, not fear… what was it?

" Well, maybe, I don't want to be like you! Maybe I don't want to be Harold Potter's son, James Potter, wonderful student, Quidditch extraordinaire, just like his father! Maybe I just want to be plain old James Potter! Did you ever think of that!" James suddenly yelled, screaming at his father, finally exploding.

Harold stared at him. He now realized what that had been in his son's eye. Hate. It had been hate. Defiance. Anger. Recklessness. All the things that a Potter should never, ever show.

"How DARE YOU!" shrieked Mr Potter, face contorting with anger.

James looked slightly regretful at first, knowing he could not possibly have said anything worse, but then got that defiant look back again. He had been waiting to say that for an eternity, and it felt so, so good. The part of his mind that told him it was wrong, told him he shouldn't have to put up with it anymore, finally kicked in, and he became reckless, not caring what he said anymore.

"You know what? Fuck you. Slap me, punch me, kick me out for all I care, I hate you. I hate you and your stupid rules, your stupid fake, meaningless life, your stupid expectations. If I'm never going to be good enough for you, why bother?" yelled James, and with that, he stalked out of the house and into the pouring rain.

Harold Potter just looked after him in wonder, anger and despair. What had he done to deserve such a disobedient son?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

James sat in a nearby park on a bench, sobbing his heart out, letting the tears fall, his face dripping, his clothes soaking, not caring anymore, not wanting to do anything anymore. Not wanting any responsibilities, no expectations, no family honor, no school… nothing.

He slumped down on the bench miserably and closed his eyes, teeth chattering from the cold.

And that was how it came to be that James Potter, son of famous Auror, good student, fantastic Quidditch player, friend to all… Spent the night on a park bench.


	2. Chapter 2

James sat up carefully, opening his hazel eyes blearily, and attempting to take in his surroundings unsuccessfully. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them with the side of his dewy sleeve, and then put them back on.

Ah, he could see.

He took in his surroundings- trees, playground equipment, the early morning sun just rising off to the east. He shivered a little, and then breathed out slowly, watching his breath in the cool air.

All in one movement, he stretched his arms up above his head, his elbows cracking from the cold, and then swung his legs off the bench, kicking something on the way, so that he was sitting on the bench.

He blinked a couple of times, and looked over to his left.

What had he kicked?

Something soft… It couldn't possibly have been the bench, or a lose screw on the bench…

"Agh!" screamed James, a noise barely escaping because his throat had constricted from the cool night air.

He saw what- or who- was sitting on the seat, and fell forwards off the seat, landing sideways on the ground, staring up at the person, who had one arm resting on the side of the bench, and their head leaning on it.

"Hi, Potter," said the person softly, yawning gently and looking James right in the eye.

"Evans? I… what? Why? Is this some sort of sick joke…?" spluttered James from his current seat on the floor, looking up at Lily in a mixture of wonder, embarrassment, and confusion.

"No Potter, it's not a joke. It's rather a long story really. Why don't you come sit on the seat, like a normal person, and I'll explain?" she said, jokingly but still gentle, unlike the Lily Evans that James had come to know and fear.

James flushed a beautiful shade of pink, and scrambled up off the floor, nearly slipping over again, but managing to catch his balance on the side of the bench.

He sat down on the seat, head down, face still a terrible red. Lily laughed softly, before removing her hand from her hand and sitting slightly more upright, resting her hands in her lap.

"Well," mumbled James, "Are you going to explain what you are doing here? Just felt like an early morning stroll, and decided that James Potter needed some more taunting?"

Lily looked at him in disbelief.

"No Potter," she started, trying to keep herself calm, "I came here to check that you were okay."

"What? What do you mean if I'm okay?" he said in confusion, she couldn't possibly know about him and his father…

It was bad enough that Lily Evans, the girl that loathed him most in the world, had found him sleeping on a park bench and would most likely tell the entire school, but for her to know about his father too…

"Remus owled me."

"So? What does that have to do with me?" James wasn't really surprised at this, because it was a well-known fact that Remus and Lily were friends. Not all that close, but still on friendly terms.

Lily sighed exasperatedly, as if James was missing something completely obvious.

"Ok. Your mother owled Sirius, because she was worried about you, and knew that Sirius would know where to find you, and asked him to come and look after you, because she couldn't find you anywhere."

At this, James just raised his eyebrows, and seemed to be fighting not to say something, but motioned for Lily to continue.

"But, Sirius wasn't able to come, because his parents have put him under house arrest, for insulting some ancient family member. He even tried to get out the window on his broom, but they had put protection spells all around the house so that he couldn't escape."

James grinned a little at this, imagining Sirius doing just that. He waited patiently for Lily to continue, shivering a little, and bringing his frozen hands up to his face and blowing warm air on them.

"Oh! I just remembered, I brought you a coat, it's absolutely freezing out here. I don't know how you can stand it!" said Lily, motioning towards James's freezing figure, and then retrieving a warm woollen coat from a backpack a the side of the bench that James hadn't noticed before.

He took the coat from her gloved hands thankfully, putting it on straight away, thanking her profusely. Although, he still wondered why on earth Lily Evans, of all people, was being nice to him.

"Anyway," she started again, waving off his thanks nonchalantly, "Sirius, of course, owled Remus, asking if he could go, but last night was Remus' time of the month, if you get my drift."

James gasped, and put his hand to his mouth. He had completely forgotten!

Lily just held up a hand, and continued.

"And, Remus told me to tell you that it didn't matter, he didn't need you to come anyway, he was fine on his own. So, after Sirius owled Remus, and Remus couldn't come, Remus tried owling Peter, but Peter never owled back. So, to Remus, the next logical person was me. He knew that no matter how much we dislike each other, I would still come to check you were okay. So… Here I am."

James just gaped at Lily.

"All of that," he started croakily, "Just for me?"

Lily looked a little embarrassed, but replied, " Hey, it's no big deal. Couldn't have the ever popular, top Quidditch player of Gryffindor, freezing to death in the cold, could we now?" she said, half jokingly, half sincerely.

James' heart dropped from his chest to his feet in about three split seconds. 'Ever popular, top Quidditch player of Gryffindor.' That's all this was about. He was James Potter, and nobody could let anything happen to James Potter, not even Lily Evans.

She didn't care that he was out there, freezing, she just cared that he would come back and play Quidditch, and be…well, James Potter.

He sighed softly and put his head in his hands, suddenly miserable again.

Lily seemed to sense his sudden change in mood, and asked him why, misreading his mood change a little.

"Did you want to talk about why you're out here? Why you're not, you know, at home?" she said softly and hesitantly, not wanting to bring up anything too painful.

His head shot up quickly, his eyes suddenly fierce, and defending.

"Why should you care?" he spat, wondering why she was even bothering. She didn't really care, she was just a busybody, like the rest of those girls, ready to gossip at the first sign of a scandal.

Lily looked as if she had just been slapped in the face, and her eyes grew as fierce as James's.

"Well, obviously, I shouldn't. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, King Potter," she spat, getting up and swinging her bag over her shoulder, bowing to him mockingly, and starting to walk away.

James sighed, torn between following her and letting her go.

How could he trust her?

How could he know she was for real?

But she was all he really had right now…

"Wait, Evans!" he said, getting up and running after her.

She ignored him and he called again, catching up to her.

"Evans! Evans!"

He reached her, and stood next to her, panting for breath.

"Ev- Lily. Lily, please stop."

She stopped suddenly, not because he had asked her to, but more because he had called her by her first name. There was definitely something wrong if they were on a first name basis.

"Why should I, James?" she said angrily, stopping in front of him and looking up at him menacingly.

"I- I'm sorry. I just thought that you- that you were like all those other girls. You know, just waiting for a scandal to owl to all their friends. I- I'm not right though, am I?" he said, more questioning himself than her.

She answered anyway. "No James, you aren't. I truly did- do, care. I mean, we may hate each other, but even you deserve someone to talk to."

He felt somewhat more at ease with her answer, no matter how snide it had been.

"Well I- I'm sorry. Lily. Please just come and sit down with me again?" he said cautiously, not wanting a slap if he was being too forward, and leaning back a little.

She seemed to think this over for a minute.

"Okay James, but next time you do something stupid…" she started.

"I know, I know, I'll get a slap," he recited, grinning a little and shuddering at the same time.

They started walking back to the seat, and Lily replied with "Actually, I was going to say I'm leaving, but I think that's even better."

James chuckled a little, and once they reached the seat, he mockingly cleared off the seat for her, bowing a little as she sat down.

"Oh don't be an idiot, Potter," she said, jokingly.

He smiled a little again.

"Oh, back to last name basis again, are we Evans?" he grinned.

"Well, I don't believe you have earned the right to call me by my first name yet, Mr Potter. Before was just a momentary lapse in judgement," she smiled back, suddenly enjoying joking around with one of her worst enemies.

And that was how it came to be that James Potter, son of famous Auror, good student, fantastic Quidditch player, friend to all… Spent the day in a park with the one and only, Lily Evans.

**A/N: Please, please, please review and give me your thoughts! Even if you want to say this fic is absolute crapola don't bother continuing :P. Anything. AT ALL. Tell me about your day. Tell me that you have six toes. JUST. CLICK. THE. BUTTON. ******


	3. Chapter 3

"Just fuck off, Evans! You don't know me! You don't know what my life is like! Just go back to your precious schoolbooks or whatever. I don't need your help," screamed a red-faced James Potter as he scrambled up off the freshly mown grass he had previously been sitting on, and stormed away.

Lily Evans stood up, brushing off a few stray leaves, before storming after his retreating figure.

"Oh shut up Potter, you sound like a ridiculous teenager. Stop whining, not everything is about you, you know! I was the one that hauled my ass down here. All I said was for you to go back home and see if things had cooled down. Is that a crime now? I'm sure your precious Marauder friends would have said the same thing!"

James wheeled around, breathing out heavily. Lily came to an abrupt halt, and they were barely inches away from each other, their breath mixing in the cold air. James leaned down towards Lily until their faces were nearly touching, neither of them breaking the glare.

"You know what Evans," he hissed, eyes boring into hers, "It is a crime. Just because it comes from you, it is a crime. Now get away from me, you bitch."

Lily sprung backwards, as if James had slapped her in the face.

At that moment, James regretted saying anything at all, and just seeing the hurt in Lily's eyes made him want to take it all back and beg for forgiveness.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, both breathing heavily, Lily blinking profusely to hide the tears springing to her eyes, James searching for the best way to apologise.

He opened his mouth, having finally come up with something, but Lily would have none of it.

In a resigned, slightly angry voice, she said ever so quietly, "Don't, Potter. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. In fact, I don't want to hear anything from you. Ever."

With that, the red haired girl turned around, not facing James, and apparated back to wherever she had appeared from with a loud 'pop.'

James stared at the ground where she had just been standing in disbelief. Had that just happened? Had he just done that?

Coming to the conclusion that he had, he sunk to the ground, right where he was, and covered his face with his hands. He didn't cry, he just sat, thinking, wondering.

Where did he go from here? He had nowhere to go but home. Sirius would still be locked up, Remus would still be recovering from the night before, and Peter… well, he didn't want to go to Peter's.

It looked like James would just have to face going home. Nothing too bad could happen, right? His father would have calmed down, and his mother would have taken his side, he was sure.

After what seemed like hours, but would have only been minutes, James stood up slowly, and started trudging in the direction of home, his soggy shoes squelching on the solid ground.

As he walked he started to feel colder and colder, and shivered incessantly, pulling his coat over him, trying to envelop his entire body. The shock of what had happened to him in the past twenty four hours had suddenly hit him, and he began to feel giddy with emotions, becoming dizzy and disorientated.

He finally made it to his house, a shivering, whimpering mess, and walked straight in the front door.

His mother rushed into the room, wrapping James into an embrace that he didn't want, coddling him and fussing over him, leading him into the bathroom and bombarding him with questions.

Where had he been? Why had he gone? Why had he not called? Who was he with? Why was he wet? Where did he sleep?

James remained silent, and after Mrs Potter had run the bath, gone to get warm towels and clothing, and stopped her incessant rambling, she stopped to look at him. Properly look at him.

He looked at the floor, not wanting to look her in the eye.

"What happened James?" she said softly, looking at her son intently.

He looked up slightly, and then realised- his father hadn't even told her what happened. She must have thought that he had just run away. His father must have said that he had just run away…

And because of that, James wanted to make sure that his mother never knew what had happened. To make sure that she never endured the pain he went through, and to reassure her that nothing had happened – just something silly. He needed to shield her, needed to help her- she couldn't know what had happened. She just couldn't.

And so, the next words to come out of James' mouth were, "Oh, nothing, mother. Don't worry. I just went to the park, and fell asleep, and then went to a friends house. Not a big deal. I'm sorry, I should have told you."

His mother looked at him, studying his expression, his body language. She mentally decided that he was legit, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, well thank Merlin. Don't ever do that again, James! You had us scared half to death," she scolded gently, hugging her only son once again.

James just received the embrace reluctantly, resting his head on her shoulder and staring into the distance.

"Sorry," he whispered.

0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0

After his mother had left the room, James stripped off and stepped into the invitingly warm bath, automatically feeling a little better. Not much, but enough for him to be able to face the next week of holidays.

He remained in the bath for nearly an hour, until it was icy cool, and his hands were just wrinkled up prunes attached to the ends of his arms.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing thick tracksuit pants, and a huge black hoodie his mother had left out for him.

He trudged through the house sulkily, yet at ease, knowing his father would most probably be at work.

Once again, he was wrong.

When he was passing through the living room, carrying his sopping wet clothes to the washing line outside, a gruff stopped him suddenly, making him drop them all on the freshly cleaned carpet.

"Decided to come back, did we James?"

James spun around, scrambling to pick up the clothes as well as prepare himself for whatever was to come.

He had hoped for hours to prepare for this, why was his father at home? A feeling of dread crept up on James, and the pit of his stomach felt as if it were filled with rocks. Bile rose up in his throat, making him want to throw up on the spot.

"Yes, father," he said, looking the man sitting before him straight in the eye.

Mr Potter's eyes bore into James', and James wavered a little, although didn't break the stare, knowing he couldn't let his father win.

"Why did you bother?"

Those four words shocked James so much, that his mouth fell open in surprise. He felt as though his father had just punched him in the chest repeatedly – in fact, he would rather that.

Did he really not want James there? Did he despise him that much? He must have been meaning something else.

"Wh- what do you mean?" said James shakily, staring into his father's cruel piercing eyes.

"Exactly what I just said, you insolent child. I don't want you here. Only that stupid twittering wife of mine does. You should have stayed away," he said menacingly, as if it were a threat.

_I don't want you here._

_I don't want you here._

_I don't want you here._

_I don't want you here._

Those words resounded over and over in James' head, making his head spin, his stomach feel even worse, and his chest was fit to burst with emotion.

He couldn't take this.

He couldn't do this.

He _wouldn't _do this.

James turned and ran out of the room, leaving clothes scattered on the floor, and his father chuckling slightly as he left.

He ran up the flight of stairs that led to his room, flung open the door, slammed it behind him, and went and threw himself on his bed.

_I don't want you here._

James started sobbing uncontrollably, hating himself, hating his life, hating everyone and everything.

He finally managed to cry himself to sleep, feeling a weight being lifted off him as he drifted into a deep slumber.

_I don't want you here._

**A/N: Click the button! NOW!**


	4. Chapter 4

James awoke groggily, taking off his wire rimmed glasses and wiping his eyes blearily, attempting to take in his surroundings.

Ah, thank Merlin, he was no longer on that uncomfortable park bench, he was home. Safe, at home.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then suddenly, the previous nights events all came back to him.

_I don't want you here._

"Fuck," he whispered, putting his glasses back on and sitting up, leaning his back against the headboard, facial expression plummeting.

What was he supposed to do now? Stay at home? Great idea, James, he mentally scolded himself.

Why did his father hate him so?

Why did he have to cause him so much pain?

Surely, James had never done anything too bad. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe, he was actually such an awful person, such a nuisance in his father's life, that he deserved it.

James slowly got up off the bed and went and sat at his wooden desk, bought for him for schoolwork only.

He sat back in the chair and stared around his room, taking in the red and gold walls, pictures of famous Quidditch players scattered in an orderly fashion around them, the spotless carpet that his mother had obviously just cleaned, his extremely high priced broomstick sitting in one corner, his stack of spell books in the other.

He didn't deserve all this. His father was right. Why should he have all these things? He had never done anything to deserve them.

James averted his gaze back to the desk, the only unclean thing in the room.

James had told his mother to please respect his privacy, and never go through the desk. There was really not much there, but a few stray potions and spells written down messily, for pranks he and Sirius were already planning.

His eye caught on a shiny red tube, and he picked it up, trying to remember what it was. On top of it there was a shiny metal contraption. He pushed on it, flicked it, wrestled with it, before finally, a faint spark of fire came out of the top.

James dropped the lighter, and sprang back into his chair in surprise. Ah, now he remembered. His father had brought this back from one of his Ministry meetings- this was a piece of Muggle magic, used to light cigarettes and pipes.

James picked the lighter back up, and flicked down the metal bit with his thumb, making it re-light. He left it lit, holding his thumb down intently, watching the flame burn. It was such a pretty thing, the flame, gold with a red tinge. It brought warmth to his body, making him feel a little happier.

All of a sudden, the flame got too hot, and seared the base of his thumb a little, making him drop the lighter once again, in a reflex action. It really hadn't hurt too much, just surprised him a little.

He forgot about the lighter for a minute, and brought his newly scorched thumb up to his face, studying it intently.

All that was to be seen was a slight black mark on the skin, and some red flesh around it. He could still smell the scent of burning, and it gave him a cheap thrill.

It was kind of like an adrenalin rush, and the slight pain made James want more, making him want to see just how much pain he could stand before chickening out.

He picked up the lighter off the ground, and flicked it again with the same thumb on his right hand, once again watching the flame flicker in the air.

His flesh became hotter and hotter, and he could feel the burning sensation once again. But, this time, he let it continue. His eyes started to tear, and he gritted his teeth. The pain started to become unbearable, but the adrenalin kept him going, knowing that he could cause himself that pain kept him going.

It finally became too unbearable, and James set the lighter down on the desk and cradled his thumb in his left hand, blowing on it slightly. The black mark was much bigger now, and most of his thumb hurt, the skin swelling and red.

He grabbed onto the end of his thumb closest to his hand and squeezed it, making all the pressure rush to his wound, making the pain a little easier to take. It started to throb, and he let go, the pain rushing through his body.

He sat back again, holding his thumb out in front of him, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily.

Had the pain really been worth it?

Had the adrenalin rush really been worth it?

James decided it had. He had deserved it, and it had felt good, in an odd way, at the time. As if, even though it was causing pain, it was making some of his other pain leave. At that point, all the pain he had felt from his father, from Evans, form the day before in general, it just disappeared. From that one moment when his hand was burning... it was all forgotten.

0o0o0ooo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o

"James!" came his mother's cheerful voice from just outside the door, breaking him out of his silent reverie of gazing at his scorched finger.

He frantically picked up the lighter and stashed it under a few scattered pieces of paper on the desk, and then rested his hands normally on his lap, his right under his left.

"Yes, Mum! Come in!" he called back, his voice breaking a little in the middle, as he tried to clear his voice.

The door opened and standing in the doorway was Mrs. Potter, holding a tray of what looked like bacon and eggs.

"I bought you some breakfast dear," she said coming over to James and placing the tray down in front of him on the desk.

"Thanks Mum," he said, truly grateful. It seemed as if he hadn't eaten in days.

"You're most welcome dear. Now," she started bustling over to the windows to open his curtains, and waving her wand at the bed to make it quickly, "I'm going down to do some shopping and run some other errands today, so it will just be you and your father, okay James?"

James' stopped breathing for a second, before breathing in quickly and suddenly.

"I- I see."

Mrs. Potter studied her son's expression.

"Something wrong, James?" she said curiously.

James snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at his mother with a cheerful smile on his face.

"No, of course not. Don't worry about me Mum, have a good day."

"Hmm, okay. Be good, and please don't do anything silly like leave without telling us where you are going again! And make sure you eat your breakfast," she said, starting to walk out of the room.

"Yes Mum," James groaned, as he would have any other day.

They said their goodbyes, and Mrs. Potter left the room with last minute instructions on eating and cleaning.

As soon as she had left the room he slumped down in his chair, his downcast expression mirroring how he felt. He picked up his fork and slowly started to eat. Maybe, if he just stayed up in his room all day, then his father would forget he was even there.

"Boy! Get down here!" screamed Mr. Potter from the base of the stairs.

**A/N: Click it. Its speaking to you. 'Click me lovely reader person... you know you want to' - Review Button.**


	5. Chapter 5

James jumped at the sound of his father's growling voice.

"Fuck."

What was he going to do?

He looked around for an escape, finding nothing. To get through the front or back door downstairs, he would have to go past his father. The window in his bedroom was to small for even an elf to get through, and his bedroom was the only room upstairs.

There was no escape- he had to go downstairs and face it like a man.

Well, either that, or like the quivering, whimpering boy that he had become.

He slowly got up and walked over to his door, which was covered top to bottom in photographs and quidditch posters.

He had just put his hand on the doorknob when there came another loud command from his father.

"Hurry up, you stupid boy! I'll be waiting to have a talk to you in the living room," he screamed, walking into the next room.

James shakily opened the door and started climbing down the stairs, trying to ready himself mentally for whatever was to come.

He reached the living room and walked in, head down.

"Oh finally decided to come down, did you James?" snarled Mr. Potter, whom was standing near the fireplace, extremely intimidating and tall.

James shuddered slightly, pulling down the sleeves of his top, making them cover his arms and hands. Just that action made him feel slightly safer.

"Yes sir," he said, trying with all his willpower to look his father in the eye.

"Took you long enough," his father commented mildly, as if commenting on the weather.

His tone made James feel ill, and if he hadn't been so fearful, he would have retched. It was bad when Mr. Potter had an angry hint to his voice, but when he was calm – well, that was a completely different matter.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down.

Mr. Potter glared at him, his face starting to turn red.

"Sorry, what?" he hissed at his son.

James looked up at him, seeing the anger creasing his face.

"Sorry, sir" he mumbled, not meaning a word.

"That's better," growled Mr. Potter, his face starting to return to its natural colour.

"Sit down, James," Mr. Potter said, motioning at an armchair.

This caused a debate in James' mind. If he sat down, he was more vulnerable, easier for his father to get to. But if he refused… Well, it was likely that the consequences would be dire.

James slouched over to the armchair, sitting down tentatively.

Mr Potter walked over to the chair and stood in front of it, looking down at his son, making James flinch.

"What are you flinching for, boy?" he said roughly, spitting a little in James' direction.

"No reason, sir," said James, as quiet as a whisper.

"What do you mean no reason? You don't flinch for no reason. You know what I think? I think its fear. Pussy pansy fear. Am I right?" he said cruelly, still standing and looking down menacingly at the curled up ball that was James.

"No sir," said James, trying to stand his ground, even if only a little. He had no desire whatsoever to let his father know he was afraid. Although he was scared shitless (as rude as that sounds), he didn't want to show it, even if he was doing a poor job of hiding it.

Mr Potter stepped closer, as close as he could possibly be to the couch without being on it himself.

"What did you say, boy?" he hissed.

James was at a loss for words. What did he mean? Wasn't that supposed to get him off his back? Did he want him to be scared?

So James repeated the same thing.

"No, sir."

His father's face started to turn red with fury.

"You insolent boy. First you come in here late, slouching around like you own the place. Then, you flinch and quiver, and carry on like an absolute pansy. And _then _you lie straight to my face. Straight to my face!" he yelled, spitting everywhere.

James stood up in the seat, and jumped off the side, his father still barring the front of the chair. Mr Potter followed him around the side, and they both stood in warrior stance, glaring at one another furiously.

"No," James spat, "You are the insolent one."

Mr Potter looked at his son incredulously. James was even a little taken back himself, but he continued his stance.

"What do you mean, boy?" he growled, taking a step forward.

Every instinct in James' body told him to step backwards.

_Step backwards._

_Just do it._

_Step backwards._

_You want to, you know it._

_Do it!_

_Before it's too late!_

_Just give in!_

He took a deep breath, and took a step forward, letting out the breath slowly.

His father stared at him in horror, wondering what had happened to his son.

"I mean, that you are the one who abuses everyone. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you name it. Oh, and it was a fantastic little trick to keep Mum in the dark about my little escapade yesterday. How odd of you not to tell her that I ran away because you are a complete arsehole, who –"

But James never got to finish that sentence.

His father launched himself onto James, punching and kicking, scratching and pinching.

James tried with all his might to throw him off, but the older man always seemed to get the better of him.

They fell to the floor, and Mr Potter got on top of James, punching him over and over in the face, relentlessly bruising and battering his face.

James kicked, screamed, yelled, even bit, as much as he could, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Harold Potter was on the war path, and there was nothing James could do.

A few minutes later, Mr Potter got off James, straightening his shirt and tie, acting as if all was completely normal.

James, lucky to still be alive, sat up shakily, resting his weight on his legs. His face was a sight to be seen, almost every inch was bruised or bloody, and it seemed as if his nose were broken. All in all, he was a bloody mess.

"That'll teach you to defy me, boy. Don't ever try to lie to me again. And also, don't be scared. Fear is for pansies, and pansies don't become famous Aurors like me now, do they?" he said tauntingly.

He looked down at his son after there was no response.

"Look at you boy, you're a mess. Go and get yourself cleaned up before your mother gets home."

James glared up at him silently.

There was a sudden flicker of sympathy in Mr Potter's eyes, a rare sight for his only son.

Mr Potter got out his wand, pointing it at James.

James tried to move, but found himself unable to.

He took a deep breath, trying to ready himself for what was to come, but all he felt was a sharp pain in his nose.

Mr Potter had said a spell to repair James' nose.

Ah, a hint of remorse in his black hearted body.

**A/N: Do it.**


	6. Chapter 6

James hobbled across the room, to a door leading to one of the many bathrooms in his not-so-humble abode. He turned the knob tentatively, wincing as something in his hand cracked painfully.

He managed to turn the knob all the way around, and open the door just enough for him to push it open with his body.

He stumbled inside, hugging himself as he tried not to fall over.

Once inside he closed and locked the door, not caring how much it hurt, just making sure nobody could get in.

He then turned around and slid to the floor resignedly, leaning his head back against the bathroom bench for support.

He brought a hand up to his face, feeling around his throbbing nose.

Blood still engulfed it, a red gooey mess on his face, and it felt extremely bruised. But his nose felt like it was back in place, and everything on his face was in tact again, even if it did hurt like a bitch.

After finally realising that most of his face was indeed not broken, just severely bruised, he tentatively reached an arm up behind him to get a box of tissues, or a cloth. Just something to attempt to mop up the bloody mess that was his face.

He found the box of tissues that his mother had placed there earlier in the day, and brought it down to the ground slowly, every muscle in his battered body protesting silently.

He gingerly took out a few of the scented tissues and starting to wipe up his face, using bloody tissue after bloody tissue.

After a few minutes, all James had achieved was what looked like a mountain of red tissues in a sodden mess on the floor. His face felt no different than it had minutes earlier, and when he put his hand up to check, it too became covered in blood.

Just looking at the pile made James queasy and sick to his stomach. He slid backwards a little on the floor and turned around, placing his hands up on the bench, positioning himself to get up.

He gripped the sides and heaved himself up, involuntary muscles kicking in as he stood. Shakily he straightened, becoming as upright as he could without aggravating his wounds.

Once he had regained his balance, he hesitantly looked up into the huge gold plated mirror, dreading what he would see.

What he saw made him step back in revulsion, nearly making him fall over in horror. His face was a complete mess, and he was nearly completely unrecognisable.

His face was covered and caked in blood from his broken nose and bleeding mouth, and there were already large purple bruises forming on his forehead and cheeks, where his father had punched him relentlessly.

James turned, holding his stomach and retched violently into the flawless porcelain toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach. Just seeing his face made him feel sick and disgusting.

Once he had stopped retching, he reached over shakily and flushed the toilet, removing all evidence.

There was no way this wretched bloody mess could be cleaned up with just tissues, or even with a cloth.

James finally let go of the bench, holding himself up ungracefully, and shuffled slowly over to the huge glass shower in the corner.

He opened the door of it and half stepped in, turning the sterling silver knobs ever so cautiously, waiting until the water was just the right temperature.

He then stepped out, closing the door and watching the glass start to steam up, before deciding it was time to take off his clothes.

The battered boy started to remove his clothing bit by bit, wincing and clenching his teeth as he bumped various bruises. Once he had removed the last piece of tattered clothing, he looked down at himself, and felt the need to throw up all over again.

His body was a battlefield. Bruises and scars scattered everywhere, blood caked over every part of his once chiselled, defined, perfect body. James Potter had finally been broken.

His body started to shudder with sobs as he re-opened the glass door and stepped in, closing it behind him.

His face in his hands, he slid to the floor, convulsing with huge, heart- wrenching sobs.

He had to get out of there. He couldn't stay, and have his mother see him like this, have his father do it all again…

But where could he go? Not Remus', his parents barely knew him, and he didn't really feel that comfortable to be like he was with Remus. Ditto with Peter, and he lived too far away anyway.

He could go to Sirius'. James felt like he trusted Sirius, and felt comfortable around his mischievous best friend. Although there was always the issue of Sirius' somewhat horrible parents, James knew deep down that Sirius would never turn him down, and would always be able to find him a way in.

So, it was settled. He would have to resort to leaving, and go stay at Sirius' until school started in a week or so. He would leave the next morning on his broom. He contemplated leaving that very night, but then realised foolishly that he would be too weak, and had to wait to get his strength up a little more. Plus, in the morning, hopefully both his parents would be gone.

Once James had thought everything over in his head, he lay back in the shower, no longer crying, just trying to gather his thoughts.

But, instead of calming him down, James suddenly seemed to get angrier and angrier.

Angry at himself for being so weak and helpless, like a little child. He should be able to stand up for himself by now, not be beaten by an old man. What a weakling.

Angry at his father, for being the fucked up bastard that he was, and torturing James in the different ways that he did, and for finally being able to break him.

And, of course, angry at his mother, for not being there, not protecting him from the monster that his father had become. How dare she pretend she didn't know? She must know. She must.

What the fuck was wrong with his family anyway? Why were they so completely fucked up? What was with all their stupid rules, and expectations? Why the hell did they expect so much of him! Maybe he deserved it. Maybe not.

Fuck his father.

Fuck his mother.

Fuck Hogwarts.

Fuck that god damned Lily Evans! Who did she think she was, anyway! Prancing around, thinking she was so much better than James, and then just suddenly leaving.

Angry tears started streaming down James' face again as he thought, and he clenched is fists wildly, teeth clamped together, eyes wild as he glared into the pounding water.

He needed to hurt something, someone. Anything.

The anger suddenly took over James' body and soon he was somebody else, kicking and punching the walls form the ground, forming more bruises on his body. He then started scratching himself, wild and dangerous, scratching up and down his arm with his fingernails.

Pulling them up and down, up and down his arm. Pulling so hard that his arm started to bleed. He watched, fascinated, as the blood formed on the cut and then started to disappear. When it had nearly disappeared, he would claw at it again, sobbing loudly, in a broken craze. He had to feel the pain, or rather, numb the pain.

He clawed at his arm continuously, drawing blood every time, causing permanent scars up his right arm.

Suddenly, a knock on the door caused him to snap out of his reverie.

"James!" called a cheery voice, "What are you doing in there darling? Your father said you have been in there for a very long time!"

James stared down at his arms incredulously, not believing what he had just done.

"Merlin," he breathed, staring at his cut up arm, putting it under the water to try and clear up the blood.

"James? Are you in there?" she called again, her voice sounding more anxious now.

James looked up at the door, thanking Merlin he had locked it.

"Yes Mother," he said, his voice cracking a bit. He cleared it, trying not to cry. "I'm fine, I'm just coming."


	7. Chapter 7

James winced at every slight movement he made, trying to extract himself from his warm, comfortable bed. He swung his legs over the side, the hair on them prickling as the cold hit his body. He shuddered, working up the courage to stand up.

He gripped the side of the bed, one hand on either side of his torso, and heaved himself upward, letting go at the last second so he didn't topple backwards. He instinctively put his arms out as he wobbled, and his legs felt like jelly.

Regaining composure, he walked over to the window, a few bones cracking and cricking as he walked, causing him to gasp under his breath. James watched the sun rise, wondering how such a normal occurrence could make him feel just that little better.

Suddenly, as a ray threatened to burn out his irises, he remembered why he had to awaken at such a hideous hour. He walked over to his wardrobe, and scrambled through various clothing to extract a slightly worn, full trunk.

James had packed the night before, carefully choosing enough muggle clothes and robes to last him the holidays, and remembering to pack all his school robes and books. He set the overflowing trunk on the floor carefully, and then straightened up to peer back into his closet.

After rummaging through the various items of clothing he had left in his expensive closet, he chose a pair of dark muggle jeans and a t-shirt with a black coat. He sucked in a breath and then changed as quickly as he could, ignoring his stinging cuts and bruises, and the temperature of the room.

Once fully dressed and slightly warmer, James quickly stashed his pyjamas into a drawer, and then set about writing a note to his parents.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

No, scratch that. He didn't deserve a mention, as childish as it sounds.

_Dear Mum, _

_I've gone to Sirius'. _

Nope, he couldn't write that either. His father would see, and try to come and get him. That wouldn't do.

_Dear Mum,_

_I have gone away for the rest of the holidays, I need some time to think. Do not worry about me, I will be somewhere safe, and please do not look for me. I will owl you when I go back to Hogwarts._

_Sorry._

_James_

That would have to do. Although his parents would still think he would be somewhere with Sirius, they wouldn't think he was at Sirius' house, as they had heard countless rumours about the Black's, and James didn't tend to go there. So, for the time being, he was safe.

He took one last look around the room, and then tentatively picked up his trunk again, his upper arm protesting at even that little weight. With his other hand he grabbed his broom from its leaning position against the wall, and put it under his arm, so he did not have to use too much strength.

He stopped to think for a second, wondering if he had forgotten anything, and then slowly walked towards the desk. The broom still under his arm, he used his left hand to brush papers out of the way, revealing the lighter he had been using earlier. He stared at it for a few seconds, deciding. Reaching out, he picked it up and roughly put it in his pocket, hoping he would forget he had brought it with him.

After glancing at his alarm clock, he hurriedly picked up the letter and placed it in front of his door, so that it was the first thing his parents saw.

Then, finally, he opened his window, a gust of freezing air filling his lungs. He climbed onto his broom confidently, knowing that even with his extensive injuries he would still be able to fly.

Then, without further adieu, he flew out the window into the early sunlight, balancing his trunk on his lap.

A little over an hour later, James reached Sirius' house, using the disarming charm Sirius had taught him to get past the various enchantments the grounds had to keep people out.

He hopped off his broom, his nose and fingers red from the cold conditions he had endured for the past hour. He blew on his hands, warming them up a little, and then started walking around the back of the manor, attempting to stay in the shadows.

It would not be all that great if Mr and Mrs Black found him just yet, and so he decided to keep a low profile. He reached the back of the manor and looked up to the window where Sirius' room was, hoping that he hadn't swapped rooms since the last time James had been here.

He stepped easily back onto his broom again, smoothly and gracefully flying on an almost vertical angle up to the room. He peered into the pristine clean window, and thankfully, saw Sirius' sleeping form.

He rapped on the window loudly, knowing that there were no rooms nearby that people would inhabit at this hour. There was no positive response from Sirius, instead, he turned over, his mouth open, facing James.

James laughed a little for the first time in many days, and rapped on the window again. This time there was no response at all from Sirius, and James wondered if he would wake up if their house was under attack.

He suddenly had an idea, and flew fluently down to the garden, picked up some stones, and then flew up again, balancing his trunk on his lap once again.

He flew a few metres away from the window this time, and then, with his right hand, threw a stone at the window. No Sirius came to the window, so James tried again, getting into a rhythm with the handful of stones he had.

After throwing a few, he started to get the giggles. This was just like one of those muggle movies he had seen, where a lovesick boy had thrown stones at a girl's window.

Through his giggling, he didn't see a bleary eyed Sirius open the window, and he lobbed a stone straight at his forehead.

"Fuck!" hissed Sirius, now more wide awake, as a stone had just hit his head at full force, and his best friend was hovering a few metres away on a broomstick, giggling rather girlishly.

James heard him and looked up, his mouth open at the bruise forming on Sirius' forehead. Then suddenly, he started giggling again, rather hysterically.

"Mate, what the fuck is goin on?" Sirius mumbled, loud enough for James to hear.

James simply shrugged, his eyes watering slightly, his shoulders shaking with unbridled laughter.

Sirius looked at him for a minute then moved back from the window.

"Well its bloody freezing, why don't you come in?"

At that, James started crying as well as laughing, and flew straight in on his broom, dumping his trunk on the floor.

He got off his broom and threw it next to his trunk, and then turned to look at Sirius, tears containing many emotions running down his face.

Sirius looked at him worriedly. "Mate, are you alright?" he said softly.

James suddenly wailed at Sirius' worry, and then leaned forwards, looking as if he were about to hug Sirius.

Sirius put his arms out to steady him, but at the last minute James simply crumpled to the floor, his head in his hands.

_Please review._


End file.
